


make the yuletide gay

by PotofCoffee



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Fluff, Everyone Is Gay, Multi, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9048787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotofCoffee/pseuds/PotofCoffee
Summary: Bernie's home from Kiev but she and Serena never made up. Dom learns that hanging out on rooftops is a family trait. Jac's feelings for Zosia are becoming stronger and stronger. Raf learns he may lose his family and he doesn't know what to do.What better place for all of this to come to a head than at Serena's annual holiday party?





	

**Author's Note:**

> everyone is gay AU is the only AU i care abt tbh! couldn't handle Morven not getting her AAU mums so there's a fixit in here for that too.  
> Oh and Isaac and Matteo went on a ski trip together and died on the side of a mountain or something because Fuck Them.
> 
> Happy Holidays to everyone! Hope it's great :)

Another day at Holby and Dom finds himself on the roof again. He sits there, embracing the cold chill of November and wonders if maybe he’s just being over-dramatic? Making something out of nothing. Isaac is… Isaac is perfect, really. It’s obviously his own fault that the relationship isn’t going smoothly. He pulls his jumper tighter around his body and takes a few deep breaths. He needs to apologise, he needs to make this right somehow.

When he hears the door to the roof clang open behind him he turns, expecting Ms. Wolfe, not sure who else would be coming here in the middle of the day (and on such a cold one at that). Instead, a young man steps out onto the rough ground. Dom’s first thought is ’cute’. He has soft looking brown hair, huge dark eyes, a little stubble. He looks a little lost. Dom gives him a terse smile.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” the stranger replies, “mind if I,” he gestures to the spot next to Dom.

“Be my guest.”

“I’m Cam,” he says as he sits down, offering his hand out to Dom.

“Dom,” Dom replies. “Rough day?” He says after a moment. He doesn’t really know why he’s inviting conversation: he’d come up to the roof to be alone, after all. But Cam is very cute and maybe if Dom is lucky he’ll get a bit of mindless flirtation out of it to bolster his spirits before returning to the ward.

“Oof,” Cam lets out a long breath, “weird, at the least.” He looks down at his hands before continuing, “I’m, um, working with my mum.”

“Don’t get along?”

“I wouldn’t say that…” He trails off and Dom waits patiently. “She hasn’t been around much, and the past year has been… Turbulent. She’s a surgeon. On AAU. Which makes her also my boss.”

“Is your mum,” the pieces finally click into place for Dom (those eyes, he should’ve known immediately), “Bernie Wolfe perchance?”

“Yeah. That’s right. Do you know her?”

“Uh, yeah,” how do you explain to someone that you and their mum are in a strange unofficial club for gay people who make bad decisions? “You could say that.” He laughs, “is hanging out on roofs a family pastime then?”

“Hmm? I, I don’t know. I just like it up here. Feels… Freeing.”

“Yeah," Dom agrees, “I get that.”

Dom doesn’t really expect to see him again. It’s weird, anyway, to hang out with the son of a woman with whom the only contact you have is through the joint baring of souls. But they keep running into each other. It’s nice, actually. A sort of casual friendship built on the windy escapism the roof offers and Dom finds himself really enjoying Cam’s company. He’s funny and smart and he doesn’t seem to need to fill every moment with conversation. He’s more than happy to sit in silence, if the day calls for it, or to listen to one of Dom’s stories with appropriate murmurs and head nods in all the right places.

Dom promises himself he won’t intervene on anything to do with Ms. Wolfe. A promise he breaks almost immediately.

“It’s just so frustrating,” Cam says one day, letting his head fall back against the side of the structure they’re leaned up on, “I barely saw her for so long and now I only see her at work, I keep hoping that she’ll turn to me one day and ask me to spend time with her outside of work but it just doesn’t happen.”

“Reaching out isn’t exactly her strong suit,” Dom says with a shrug. It isn’t his either, it’s interesting to see the other perspective on it for once.

“I know, I know. I keep hoping something will change though.”

“You can’t change people,” Dom says, “it’s trite, I know, but it’s true. You can give them all the reasons and opportunities in the world, but the changing has to come from the person themselves it’ll never do any other way.”

“Never?” Cam sounds so young and hopeful, Dom wants to reach out and hug him. He settles for nudging him with his shoulder.

“Look, Cam. I’m gay. I’ve watched too many friends half kill themselves trying to change their parents. At a certain point you have to accept that it’s not going to happen. That being said…” Dom squints up at the sky as he tries to formulate what he wants to say, “"look, I don’t want to overstep my boundaries here, your mum and I are… Well I wouldn’t say friends. Partners in commiseration, maybe? But I do know her and she’s not the best with people. With relationships. It’s shitty and it’s not the way it’s supposed to be, but maybe you need to be the one to reach out?”

“How?”

“Ask her for coffee. Or tell her you need sheets or a new mixer for your apartment. See if she’d take you. Give her the opportunity to spend time with you, I bet she’d take it.”

“Sheet shopping?” Cam seems unconvinced. “She’s not exactly Maria Von Trapp, I’m assuming she just grabs the cheapest thing she can find and beelines out of the store as quickly as possible.”

“Well,” Dom shrugs, “if she takes you up on it you can be assured it’s not because of her passion for thread counts.”

A few days later he and Cam meet up again and Cam seems happier.

“Your plan worked!” He says with a grin and Dom grins back.

“I will gladly take all the credit for that, thank you very much.”

Cam laughs.

“You were right,” Cam says, “of course!” He adds at Dom’s pointed look. “We went sheet shopping and we talked and it was fun. She went a bit overboard, though. I own 6 sets of sheets now, I’ll only have to do laundry like twice a year.” He’s elated and it’s adorable and Dom gives himself a little pat on the back for effecting a positive change in someone’s life (not just a bitter old gay after all, he thinks).

They swap phone numbers at one point, hypothetically so they can talk somewhere or somehow else, but all they end up doing is sending ‘Roof?’ back and forth when they’re in need of a chat.

One day Cam broaches the subject Dom had been hoping to avoid at all costs.

“Do you know if… I mean, erm, my mum? And Ms. Campbell. Were they… Did something happen there?”

“Oh.” Fuck. Dom doesn’t really know how to deal with this. “Look Cam, there are some things I know that I cannot divulge. I would never want to betray your mum, uh, Ms. Wolfe’s confidence.”

“So there was something!”

“Yes,” Dom sighs, “you’re not blind, I’m sure you can see what everyone else sees. I’ll tell you what you’d find out from idle gossip, anyway, no more than that. According to the NHS rumour mill, Ms. Campbell and Ms. Wolfe were… Interrupted by some people anywhere from kissing on the floor of a deserted theatre to snogging in a supply closet, depending on who you ask. Weeks later, after what was reported as numerous instances of flirting and sexual tension, Ms. Wolfe fled the hospital one day while Ms. Campbell begged her to stay. Then she came back, but nothing else has happened. As far as anyone knows. That’s all I can say.” He peers over at Cam, wondering how he’ll take it. Hell, Dom doesn’t even know what Cam knew about his mum’s sexuality.

“That’s sad,” Cam says after a bit. “I saw them together, in the summer, I think before any of that happened and they seemed… They seemed good for each other. I think she made my mum happy.”

“Yeah. I think she did.”

“Here’s hoping for a Christmas miracle,” Cam says with a wry grin.

And it is Cam, somewhat surprisingly, who says to Dom what Dom later realises everyone in his life had probably been thinking for a while.

“Your boyfriend is an arsehole,” he says plainly one day when Dom has just finished detailing their latest fight.

“What?” It’s irrational: Dom has just spent the better part of 15 minutes detailing Isaac’s numerous faults, but Cam’s words immediately make him want to defend him.

“He’s a dick,” Cam shrugs, “I’m sorry but he is. I think you should break up with him.”

“He’s not all bad, Cam! He does like me.”

"Someone who wants to be with you only if you change every aspect of your personality doesn’t really want to be with you. So he finds you fuckable, so what, he obviously doesn’t appreciate you for you. And you shouldn’t change yourself for him, cause you’re pretty great as you are,” Cam smiles at him at the end and it makes Dom’s heart swell with joy.

It takes three more weeks, innumerable fights with Isaac, and the destruction of Arthur’s medal before Dom realises he’s right and dumps him.

* * *

Jac Naylor does not, historically, like people. She feels this is justified because, on the whole, people are awful. She knows exactly what people say about her and she doesn’t care in the slightest. Fear is a great motivator, after all. And Jac has no time to deal with the absolute bullshit of general opinion. She knows without a shadow of a doubt that, were she a man, she would be cast as a brilliant and strong leader not Holby’s number one bitch. So she’s happy to bear the title, it allows her certain freedoms she wouldn’t be allowed were she a nicer person and she views it, in a way, as her own personal feminist stand. Also this way she doesn’t have to suffer fools.

While Jac does not like people she does like good doctors. And Zosia March is, if nothing else, a very good doctor. Brilliant, maybe. She will be one day at the very least, if Jac has anything to say about it. Unfortunately, Jac’s feelings on Zosia are slightly more complicated than that of a diligent mentor.

Ever since Jac found Zosia with Tristan and held her in her arms as she sobbed they’ve been spending more time together. In a way, at least. This is not to suggest that they’ve suddenly begun hanging out outside of the hospital or anything. Merely that Jac has taken it upon herself to check in with Zosia more. To talk with her during the days. Or even to wordlessly slide her a sandwich or some baked treat from Pulse’s when she suspects Zosia hasn’t eaten in awhile. It’s forcing her to confront some feelings about her that Jac would really prefer to let alone. Because Zosia is lovely and gorgeous and Jac probably cares more for her than she should.

It’s not about sexuality. It’s really not. Jac has long held the view that she would be with whomever she found amenable and she has found women attractive before. She’s never before been so consumed that all she can think of when looking at any of them is pressing them against the nearest surface and kissing them voraciously, but anyway, Zosia’s gender is a non-issue. The problems arise from the fact that a) Jac is Zosia’s boss and b) Zosia would never be interested in Jac. Jac accepts that fully and does her best not to expect otherwise.

Jac’s new role as self-appointed person who checks in on Zosia is nice though. It leads to little interludes with Zosia that Jac did not previously have.

“Zosia,” she calls one day from across the ward, and jerks her head towards her office. She can hear Valentine in the background making some insipid comment about Zosia being called to the headmaster’s office in the background, ignores it as she walks away. A minute later Zosia is in the office, fidgeting and looking at Jac as though trying to figure out what she’s done wrong. “Sit down,” Jac says, gesturing to a chair. “You’re not in trouble,” she says as Zosia does as she’s bid. “I just wanted to check in with you. After the other day.”

“Oh. Umm. Of course.” She’s still fidgeting a bit and Jac hates that she finds it adorable. “I’m good, thanks. I saw my psychiatrist, and I’ve made some therapy appointments as well. I might be upping my meds, or swapping some of them around maybe—”

“No,” Jac interrupts her, “I don’t need specifics like that. Your meds are your business. I just want to make sure you’re doing okay. And I am glad to hear you’re taking steps towards ensuring your own well-being.”

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not okay. I mean, not really, you probably know that already. But I do… I do think I can be. Soon. I’m not far off it, I mean. Needs a little bit of tweaking but I’m not…” She trails off, makes a gesture with her hand of soaring to the sky and then crashing down to an explosion. Jac nods fondly,

“I’m glad to hear it.”

They move on to discussing treatment plans for a couple of patients on the ward and then Zosia gets up to leave. She’s almost out the door when she turns around.

“Jac?” It’s tentative and quiet.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” Two words. So simple. And a small smile.

“You’re welcome,” Jac replies. She means to say ‘it’s nothing’ but it isn’t, really, and Zosia seems to inspire honesty in her.

They keep this up for a couple of weeks, these quiet moments where they talk for a minute or two about how they’re doing (because after the first time, Zosia always asks Jac how she’s doing as well, and seems legitimately interested in the response) and though Jac is loathe to admit it, it’s not having a good effect on Jac’s situation, or whatever you want to call it.

Jac resolves herself to not caring. Or, at the very least, only caring from a distance. Which lasts, for a while.

After the mess with Zosia and Tristan and Guy Jac very much does not insist that Zosia come home with her so she doesn’t spend the night alone. She does not make Zosia supper and then a big mug of tea and she definitely does not set her up in her guest room and let her know that she can come wake Jac up any time during the night if she needs something. Maybe she murmurs, right before leaving the room, that if Zosia ever tells anyone about it she will not hesitate to kill her.

It’s admittedly nice to see Zosia smiling.

Matteo shows up near the end of the month and Jac doesn’t know if she’s ever met a bigger arsehole. He disrespects her, he manhandles her, he acts as though he owns her ward. Nothing matters nearly as much as the fact that Zosia likes him, though. Jac knows it’s irrational, in the grander scheme of his crimes that fact that he has seduced Zosia to his side should not matter in the slightest. But it makes Jac grit her teeth, makes the bile rise in her throat.

The next day she sees Zosia and immediately turns around and beelines for her office before Zosia can see her. Zosia already had, however, and she follows Jac into the room.

“What do you want?” Jac’s tone is acidic but she’s pissed and she’ll make no apology for it.

“To apologise,” Zosia replies simply. Jac looks up at her as she continues, “yesterday with Matteo… Well. I’m sorry. He’s an arsehole. I just, uh, wanted you to know that I’m on your side.”

“Zosia,” and Jac needs to be careful about what she says here, “Mr. Rossini is a consultant and my colleague. Our job is to save lives and we surgeons all need to work together to make that happen.”

“Right,” Zosia says, and turns to go.

“Zosia,” Jac calls her back, “thank you.” She lets her lips quirk a little as she says it. Zosia grins then, wide and cheeky, and walks back out onto the ward.

* * *

As he gets to the end of the story, Raf looks down at Theo and sees he’s all but asleep. He smiles down at the adorable sight, then closes the book and sets it gently on the bedside table. He pulls the blanket up and tucks it around Theo’s shoulders.

“Goodnight Theo,” he murmurs as he shuts off the light. He almost misses Theo’s mumbled reply.

“N’night Dada.”

It hits Raf like a sack of bricks. He closes the door and stands in the corridor for a moment, leaned back against it. Obviously Theo had no idea what he was saying. Fletch has been out of the house for so long and Raf has been filling in with the kids, it’s not surprising that he would get a little confused. Still the words have their effect on Raf. He is simultaneously filled with joy at the words, because he really does feel like Theo’s dad, and utterly crushed, because it serves as a reminder that no matter how much he might want it he is definitely not Theo’s dad. And he never will be. He will be Uncle Raf forever and that will be enough.

Any little part of the kids’ lives would be enough, really, Raf loves them all so much that he’ll take as much of them as he is allowed and he will be happy. Unfortunately he can’t help his heart from yearning for more. And not just with the kids.

Falling in love with your best mate is rough, falling in love with your best mate who also lives with you and his four kids is so beyond rough it’s not even funny. Raf didn’t mean to let this happen, he really didn’t. He’s never even been attracted to another man before (well, not that he realised, looking back on his life with a different lens he’s learned that may not be entirely true, hindsight is 20/20 after all) and he wasn’t that attracted to Fletch from the get go. It’s not, well. He is attracted to Fletch. Very dangerously attracted to Fletch. The kind of levels of madly attracted to someone that makes you throw all caution to the wind and just launch yourself at them, screw the consequences. And if there weren’t four very important small humans who would bear the consequences he would do exactly that. No, it isn’t about attraction at the end of the day. It’s about, well, love. The word sounds funny, even in his own mind, it’s still weird to think of himself as in love with Fletch. Because it wasn’t something he saw coming. No, instead, he just sort of turned around one day and there it was. One day everything was normal and he and Fletch were just two heterosexual best friends who lived together, the next day his heart ached with an overflowing font of feelings that he could barely quantify, let alone name. And now here he is, the sad best friend pining away. His thoughts are interrupted by Mikey thundering past him hollering about something and Raf sighs and shakes his head. He has three more children to get to bed, this is no time for these morose musings.

November wins points for holding the most times he almost says something. ‘I love you’. ‘When you got stabbed it terrified me’. ‘I never want to lose you’. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you’. He doesn’t say any of them.

“The kids are doing great,” he says instead. “They miss you,” he says instead. “Just focus on getting better,” he says instead. “The kids can’t wait til you come home,” he says instead.

Halfway through the month Fletch does come home and Raf feels like a huge weight has been lifted off his chest just from the sight of Fletch in the doorway, surrounded by the kids. He’s still walking a little slow but he’s better overall and it does Raf a world of good to see him outside of the hospital and on his own two feet. That night, as they sit around the dinner table eating celebratory pizza and the kids talk over each other in a noisy hubbub all trying to fill Fletch in on what happened while he was gone, Fletch shoots a warm smile across the table to Raf and Raf feels his heart brim with joy. Raf doesn’t know when home became a person, not a place, (well, five people, really) but it did and he hasn’t felt at home in a long long time. Until tonight. After they get the kids to bed they settle close together on the couch, have a beer, and put on an old season of Top Gear. Fletch falls asleep on Raf’s shoulder partway through the second episode, Raf puts his arm around Fletch’s shoulders and cards his fingers through his hair and doesn’t wake him up until he is perilously close to falling asleep himself.

It’s almost December and they’re in the mad flurry of trying to get 4 children to school and day care and two adults to work when Raf spies a piece of paper on the counter. He picks it up and glances at it quickly. It’s a housing application. He immediately throws it back down where he found it because he definitely does not have time to deal with that right now, and focuses on getting Ella into her mac and wellies instead.

When they get home that night the paper is gone. It’s the first thing Raf looks for when he walks inside because he’s been, for lack of a better word, obsessing over it all day long. He waits until the kids are all in bed to bring it up with Fletch.

“Yeah mate,” Fletch says easily, “it’s for an apartment not too far from here. I just have to pass a credit check but I think it could work out.” His smile is eager and Raf’s heart sinks into his shoes.

“Oh,” he says, trying to sound positive, “well if that’s what you want.” He makes a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

“I mean,” Fletch shrugs, “I assumed you were tired of us by now. It’s not exactly the life a young single guy wants, living with his mate and his mate’s kids. Wouldn’t you be happier without all this chaos?”

Raf wants to shout ‘no’, he wants to tell Fletch that the thing that would make him happier than anything else in the world is if he and the kids stayed with him and never left. That he loves the chaos and the mess and everything about their situation.

“Well I hope it works out for you then,” Raf says. “But, um, Fletch? You and the kids, you’re always welcome here. For as long as you need, no matter what.” Fletch nods and thanks him. Raf’s never actively wished poor credit on someone before.

* * *

“I’ll call security, they’ll let us out,” Serena says, reaching for the phone. Bernie wants desperately to stop her. To say something, anything.

She doesn’t. She stands there awkwardly instead, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. She takes a breath to say something. Opens her mouth. Closes it immediately. She had a whole speech planned out, had practiced it innumerable times in Kiev, on the plane, in the airport bathroom, in the taxi on the way to the hospital. She doesn’t manage to say any of it.

The silence in the office is deafening.

“Well,” Serena says brusquely. “May as well get some paperwork done in the meantime.” She sits down at her desk and pulls out a chart, begins typing away, each clack of the keys striking into Bernie’s mind.

Security comes, eventually. The office door is open and Bernie’s fingers fidget as she tries to resist the urge to bolt out of the open door.

“I think it would be incredibly unfair of you,” Serena says, and she’s avoiding eye contact like it’s an event at the Olympics, “to leave me with this trauma bay and this department to run all on my own. Again. Don’t you?”

Bernie opens her mouth, all but set to let a thousand apologies fall off her tongue. She closes it and nods instead.

“I’ll, um, I’ll let Ric know I’m no longer interested,” she says lamely.

Serena nods firmly and then grabs a file and walks out. As soon as she’s gone Bernie lets her face fall into her hands.

“You stupid, bloody useless coward,” she whispers to herself.

Bernie’s exit plan is thus effectively cut off, so she throws herself into being the best possible co-lead she can be. She does paperwork, so much paperwork, considerably more than her share. She shows up long before her shifts start and stays long after they are done. Bernie in the office at all hours of the night, working away on this or that becomes a not infrequent sight. She sees pity in people’s eyes sometimes, ignores it and keeps working. Her goal is to make Serena’s life as easy as possible, while allowing Serena to see as little of her as possible.

The latter is made considerably easier by the fact that Serena manages to make up a schedule that involves the barest minimum of overlap between their shifts. Bernie accepts the awful hours, the night shift and the call on the worst days of the year. It’s strange, being back. That horrible empty lonely feeling that was her constant companion in Ukraine is still there. Abated, occasionally, by the sight of Serena, by her smile, by the warmth she leaves behind in a room even after she’s vacated it. A part of her brain tells her she deserves that feeling, the same part that makes her cower every time she even thinks of the word ‘lesbian’.

Bernie thought she had changed. She _has_ changed. Maybe not enough though.

She picks up the card for a therapist’s office. It takes her three days to work up the courage to call and make an appointment.

Cam shows up and Bernie’s life goes even more to hell. She tries to act like she’s okay around him, but she doesn’t think she’s really succeeding in the slightest. She wants to reach out. She wants it so badly. She doesn’t know how though. Can’t conceive of a proposed outing that in any way says ‘hey sorry for not being around when you were younger and sorry for running off to Kiev right after I got back and not giving you the slightest bit of a decent explanation’. She aches with all the things she wants to say. To Cam, to Serena, to herself even. She works herself to the bone and the words stick in her throat. When Cam casually drops by the office one day they’re both working and asks Bernie if she’d be willing to take him shopping for sheets she falls over herself accepting. She thanks every deity she doesn’t believe in for that little bit of grace. They go to the store (Bernie, who has never cared one jot what she’s sleeping on spends the night before they go researching every thing there is to know about thread counts and fabric choices) and Bernie ends up buying Cam what is likely more sheets than he will ever use. But it’s nice. They talk, not about the really important stuff, but about the smaller things. He lets her take him for lunch after and as Bernie listens to him excitedly recount a tale of something hilarious Morven did while training the F1’s the other day, she feels like she maybe, finally, did something right.

Seeing Serena and Cameron interact is… Admittedly more challenging. It gives her a weird little rush of pleasure, every time. She wants to grin foolishly with the joy that two of the most important people in her life are getting along so well. Then, invariably, she has to remind herself that there is no logical reason for her to feel this way: Serena is not Bernie’s… Anything. She is definitely not Bernie’s significant other, and in no way shape or form would she be inhabiting the role of step-mother (or anything of the like) for Cam. Bernie had her chance. Bernie has had more chances than any person has ever deserved and she blew each and every one of them. So she mentally keeps herself in line and does her best to remember that Serena is but a mentor to Cam and their relationship is, at most, that of a diligent teacher to a star pupil.

The biggest problem with being back is that her bloody stupid mind won’t stop. Any time she  doesn’t keep up constant vigilance, her mind will go off on tangents imagining that all is well. That she and Serena are together, that they drive into work together and walk beside each other on the ward, pressed as close as decorum will allow. It manages to hurt every time she is brought back to reality.

November bleeds into December, heralded by the preponderance of cheery music and twinkling lights and Bernie’s feelings on this season, historically mixed, are shifted decidedly towards the negative. She works harder than she previously did. She wraps presents for Cam and Serena and Charlotte. Cam’s is hidden in the hall closet, the other two are put as far out of reach as is humanly possible in her tiny apartment and cast from her mind as best can be.

* * *

Serena Campbell’s Annual Holiday Party is legendary. It’s always the event of the season for Holby City Hospital, showcasing a veritable who’s who of the staff (or, at the very least, a who’s who of the staff members Serena personally likes). The invitations always arrive on the first of the month, decorative envelopes sitting in the lucky chosen few’s mail trays and everyone watching with interest (and not inconsiderable envy) to see who was invited that year. So it is that when the 2nd of December of 2016 comes and goes with not an invitation in sight, Adrian Fletcher finds himself poking his head into Serena’s office with some trepidation to address the concern. He and Raf held a coin toss to decide which of them would undertake the task and Fletch curses his choice of ‘heads’ as he closes the office door behind him.

“Couldn’t help but notice the lack of invitations,” he begins tentatively, unsure how else he could start.” Serena looks at him, her brow furrowed, as though she can’t quite work out what he means.

“Oh!” Understanding dawns on her features and she immediately deflates, “oh, right.” Serena leans forward, rubbing the bridge of her nose with one hand, “I can’t believe I forgot,” she sighs, “I guess I’m just not in the Christmas spirit this year.” Serena smiles wanly at him then, and Fletch can’t help but feel sympathy for her. She looks so tired these days, they’ve all noticed it.

“I understand,” Fletch says. He doesn’t, not really, but he does know the unique anguish of loving someone you can’t have. “What if,” he begins suddenly, unsure of what he is about to say until he hears the words come out of his own mouth, “I took care of everything this year? You can still be the gracious hostess, of course, but I’ll handle all the planning and the decorating and stuff.”

“Oh. W-would you Fletch? I mean, I can’t ask it of you…” She looks about to decline the offer so Fletch jumps in immediately.

“I’d be glad to! And if you’re worried about me stealing all your credit,” he grins, “don’t be. I won’t tell a soul.”

Her smile, then, is a little more genuine and she nods her assent.

“Here,” she says, reaching into her desk, “I keep a list of all the important numbers. The florist and the caterer were booked months ago so you don’t have to worry about that. All planned for the 23rd.”

“Done and done,” he picks up the papers and moves to leave, “don’t worry about a thing.”

Raf finds him at the nurse’s station flipping through the folder and making hurried notes about half an hour later.

“I am taking over the planning of Serena’s holiday do this year,” he explains in response to Raf’s questioning look.

“Ah. So I take it the talk went well?” Fletch glares at Raf’s shit-eating grin.

“Oi! Be nice and help or I’ll put you on diaper duty for a month!”

“Fine, fine! I’ll lend a hand. What do you need?”

“To start with, a guest list. I have to decide who Serena would want to be there.”

“Well, it’s obvious who she really wants…” Raf trails off and Fletch looks up to see Serena staring at Bernie from across the ward again. It’s a common occurrence now, Bernie and Serena gazing longingly at each other when the other isn’t looking and Fletch takes some comfort in knowing he’s never that obvious at least. Still, Raf’s comment gives him an idea and he turns to him with a wide smile.

“You know, that would be the best Christmas present ever, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh. No, Fletch I don’t think we should get involved.”

“Get involved? Nonsense! I’m just going to happen to assume that when Serena told me to invite the other department heads her statement included her co-clinical lead.” He grins up at Raf and adds ‘Bernie Wolfe’ to the list of names in front of him. “Now all we need is some strategically placed mistletoe.”

“That’s all well and good, Fletch, but how are you going to get Bernie to actually go?”

Crap. That was a good point.

He ends up using Cam. It might be a low blow but whatever is happening between Serena and Bernie needs to get resolved sooner rather than later and Fletch will admit to being occasionally Machiavellian in spirit (especially when it comes to the happiness of his friends and the health of his ward). He corners the boy in a hallway later that day and explains that he needs him to get Bernie to attend the party.

“Okay,” Cam says with a nod, “I can do that. You invite me, I’ll make sure she comes. But I want something in return.”

“Shoot.”

“I want you to invite Dr. Copeland, too. And Dr. March.”

“Why?”

“Dom just broke up with his boyfriend and they were supposed to be going away together for Christmas. I want him to have something to take his mind off of it.”

“Fair enough. And Dr. March?”

“I don’t want Dom to think it was a pity invite.”

“Right. Okay, well, you guarantee me Ms. Wolfe’s attendance and I’ll make it happen.”

* * *

Jac grabs the ornate card out of her mail tray and opens it. The annual invitation to Serena’s big holiday bash, as she expected; she can’t help but notice the cards are a little late this year. It’s a little like a holiday tradition for her. She gets the invite and then she declines and spends the night at home with her daughter instead. Except this year Emma will be with her dad on the 23rd so it will be a night at home alone. She places it on the corner of her desk and plans to fill out the RSVP and send it back later in the day. She gets paged to emergency surgery and forgets all about it until the end of the day. She’s just gathering her things to leave when Zosia pops into her office to speak to her.

“Oh,” Zosia says suddenly, pointing to the card where it lies on the desk, “are you going to Serena’s party?”

“Why?” Jac means to say ‘no, of course not’, but she apparently has no control of herself when it comes to Zosia.

“Um, nothing, just I was, uh, going to go. With Dom and Morven and Cam and it would be, erm, nice to see you there. Holiday spirit and all that.” Is she blushing? Jac can’t quite tell, it’s probably just her imagination though.

“I’ll see you there,” she says suddenly.

“Great!” Zosia grins and bounds out of the room. Jac watches her go, cursing her fool mouth for getting her into what will no doubt be an exceedingly painful situation.

* * *

The night of the party comes and Serena has to admit that Fletch has truly outdone himself. The evening before, after work, he came to the house with Evie and Mikey and between the three of them, with some judicious help from Jason, they transformed Serena’s home into a magical Christmas wonderland filled with ornaments and tinsel and twinkling lights. She had spent the time in bed with a glass of shiraz and trying not to cry as Dean Martin crooned The Christmas Blues in the background. But that was yesterday and this is tonight and Serena does not have time to be sad because she is too busy being a perfect hostess. She looks quite good, if she does say so herself, decked out in a gorgeous burgundy dress that she knows is devastatingly flattering to her figure. Fletch has undertaken the job of greeting people at the door and taking their coats so Serena gets to mingle, flitting from group to group imparting some idle chatter or a quick laugh to each one, shamelessly lapping up the glowing compliments she’s been getting in return. The house! The food! The dress! All are lauded endlessly. It’s been too long since Serena has felt so effervescent and she is enjoying it immensely.

She spies Jac from across the room and makes her way over to her, marveling at her presence. Jac brushes her off rather brusquely, telling her she didn’t have anything better to do. They speak, briefly, but Jac seems preoccupied, almost as though she’s looking for someone so Serena leaves her to it. Ric’s there, and he’s brought a certain lovely French woman with him to boot. Serena corners him when he’s alone and teases him mercilessly. She tries to forget about Bernie’s involvement the last time she teased Ric about Françoise, pointedly ignores any thought of the chat with Ric at Albie’s that night…

She is having the time of her life, feeling the warmth of the Christmas spirit take away all of her woes, and then she spies a flash of blonde hair duck from one room to the next. She shakes her head. Obviously Fletch would never have invited Bernie. And even if he had she would never come. Serena’s just being daft.

Then she sees her.

She’s walking into the kitchen and Bernie enters it from the other direction and they lock eyes across the miraculously empty room. Serena just barely manages not to spill her Shiraz as she pulls up short.

Bernie.

Berenice bloody Wolfe looking absolutely resplendent in a dark blue cocktail dress. Her hair is more coiffed than Serena has ever seen it, pulled up into a lovely French twist, and Serena’s next thought is something about nibbling her way up the pale column of Bernie’s neck. She really needs to keep better control of her mind.

Bernie chokes out something that sounds vaguely like the beginning of Serena’s name, and then she runs. Because what else would she do? Serena curses and goes in search of more Shiraz.

* * *

Dom hasn’t seen Zosia since he watched from across the room as she spilled her drink on Jac Naylor. He hadn’t seen Ms. Naylor, either, now that he thinks of it and he wonders idly if she’s killed her. His thoughts are distracted by some commotion or another, and he ends up glancing over the room. His eyes land on Cam who is leaning across a table filling a glass with punch. Dom lets his eyes roam over him, lingering for awhile on his very nice arse.

Cam is an attractive man, Dom will freely admit that. And he’s been out and proud for long enough to know that developing a crush on a straight friend is a bad idea, but he can’t help himself with Cam. Maybe, he thinks, it’s those lovely dark brown eyes, a family trait that makes otherwise reasonable and sane people throw all caution to the wind. The more they’ve hung out the more he can feel himself falling, and it’s a nice distraction from Isaac so he allows it.

Furthermore, over the past weeks, he’s felt as though Cam has been hinting that maybe he might be interested in Dom. A lingering look here, a suggestive comment there. His hopes have, however, been completely dashed by the fact that Cam is very obviously keen on Morven. Dom’s never seen them together but Cam’s brought her up enough times that Dom’s caught the drift.

“What do you think of Morven?” He asked once, kicking a rock around the roof, Dom said she was great and left it at that. “This is kind of awkward,” he had begun another time, “but ummm, do you think Morven’s ready for a relationship. After everything with uh Arthur?” Dom had shrugged and told Cam succinctly that he should ask Morven that herself.

If Dom were a better man he would set them up and be done with it. But he’s petty and enjoying having Cam all to himself for as long as he can.

Cam comes over then and offers Dom one of the cups in his hands, which Dom accepts gratefully. He doesn’t know what’s in the punch but it’s delicious and definitely alcoholic. They walk about for a while, chatting with colleagues, and laughing together at the antics of some who have already imbibed a bit too much. Dom eventually convinces Cam to go in search of food with him, and they head towards the kitchen. Dom’s about to walk through the doorway when Cam’s hand on his arm stops him. He looks back, Cam gestures upwards and he cants his head and sees it: a sprig of bright green mistletoe hanging above them. He laughs and puckers up, expecting Cam to drop a quick peck on his lips and be done with it. Instead Cam gives him a proper kiss. It’s soft and gentle at first, but it deepens quickly, and Dom brings his hand up to the back of Cam’s neck to hold him close as it continues. He doesn’t know who opens their mouth first, or who makes the first tentative brush of their tongues, the heady passion of the kiss is immediately overwhelming. They’re pulled out of it by someone brushing past them and they separate, gasping for air.

“Sorry,” Cam says with a chuckle, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

Dom is flabbergasted.

“Wha—” he begins, he doesn’t know what else to say and it’s been a long while since a boy has made him speechless. “I thought you liked Morven!” He finally manages to exclaim.

“What?” Cam looks aghast for a few moments, then bursts into laughter, “oh my god, no! I mean I love Morven she’s great but no! You thought because of all the questions I asked you…? No! The questions were all, um,” he chuckles a little more, “my sister Charlotte is keen on her. And I guess Morven likes her too, I was just trying to be a good big brother and make sure Charlotte wasn’t getting in over her head. Plus, Morven would never date me,” he bites his lip shyly, “I guess I’m really annoying with how I’m constantly talking about this cute boy I met on the roof.” Dom laughs and kisses him again, pouring all the joy and relief he feels into it. They pull apart again and grin at each other foolishly.

“I just have to ask,” Dom says then, “is your _whole_ family gay?”

* * *

Apparently the 23rd of December, 2016, at Serena Campbell’s holiday bash is the day that Zosia’s mind decided to figure out, once and for all, just how much embarrassment one living human can take before literally dying of shame. It starts when she first sees Jac, of course. Zosia’s just standing in a corner drinking some punch and suddenly there’s Jac Naylor, right in front of her and looking absolutely stunning in a chic white dress. She says hi and Zosia can feel herself blush. She mumbles out something, tries to say she looks great but manages,

“You look. Wow,” instead.

And then she bolts. Just up and runs away as fast as she possibly can, makes her way out the back door onto the deck and stands out there for a few minutes banging her head against the wall and cursing her own stupidity. The problem is not merely that Jac is gorgeous—she is of course, absolutely stunning—the problem is that Jac looked at her with that curious expression that makes Zosia’s stomach flip-flop and makes her heart yearn for things she can definitely never have. It’s soft, almost. And that’s not a word easily used to describe Jac. But it is and it’s gentle and it makes Zosia feel like the most important person in the world.

She’s been looking at her like that more and more frequently, is the thing. After the mess of the past month or so, with Zosia’s bipolar deciding to fuck with her life again, Jac’s been so conscientious and caring. In her own terse Naylor way, of course. And these moments they’ve been having are always punctuated by that odd expression. It makes Zosia want to open up and tell her everything she’s feeling. It makes Zosia want to snog the life out of her.

That would undoubtedly be an awful idea; Jac is her boss and also definitely not interested in Zosia. So Zosia tamps down the desires and tries to act normal. And she succeeds most of the time.

Shaking herself a little, Zosia composes herself and goes back inside. It’s unlikely she’ll see Jac again, anyway, it’s a big house and there are lots of people. She swings by the drinks table, grabs herself a glass of white wine, and makes her way through the party smiling and wishing happy holidays to the colleagues she recognises as she does so. She turns the corner after a particularly large crowd of people, and runs directly into Jac.

"Crap! Sorry!" She exclaims. But it’s too late, she’s already managed to dump half her wine all over her. She freezes as soon as she realises what she’s done.

Jac swears and scowls and says something about needing to blot it out and stalks off. Zosia follows her, babbling apologies as she goes. The downstairs loo is in use so Jac heads upstairs, finds a bedroom with an ensuite, and goes through there. She looks livid, she hasn’t said anything else yet, and honestly that might be worse than if she were reaming Zosia out right now. Zosia stands in the background and fiddles, resolutely not looking in Jac’s direction.

“Zosia,” Jac snaps suddenly, “if you’re going to stand there you may as well help.” Zosia turns around, Jac hands her a damp towel and looks at her expectantly. It takes a second before Zosia realises Jac is expecting her to clean the stain. She begins to blot at it, her hand trembling. She brushes Jac’s breast accidentally as she goes, did Jac just gasp? They’re standing so close, Zosia can smell her (perfume mixed with the strong scent of Chardonnay thanks to her), and can feel her breath on her skin. She looks up, makes eye contact with Jac, and there’s that curious look again. It’s magnetic. Maybe it’s because she feels she’s already met max embarrassment for the night, maybe it’s because she’s finally snapped and gone full mad, but Zosia can’t keep herself from leaning forward and brushing her lips against Jac’s.

She makes to bolt but Jac pulls her back before she can, captures her lips in a rough needy kiss that makes Zosia’s head spin. Jac’s lips are so soft, and her hand on Zosia’s waist is gripping her with just the right amount of force. Her other hand is in Zosia’s hair, tugging a little on the strands as she holds Zosia close to her. She pushes her backwards until Zosia’s back hits the wall, and Zosia’s hands are moving over every inch of Jac’s body she can reach, needing to touch every part of her. They pull apart, Jac tugging Zosia’s lip between her teeth for a moment, and stand there with their foreheads resting together waiting for their breaths to even out.

“Jac. I, umm…. I, erm….”

“Zosia?” She cuts her off gently.

“Y- yes?”

“I like you, okay? Let’s not overthink it right now.”

“Okay,” Zosia replies with a small smile. They kiss again, happily losing themselves in each other.

“Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all,” Jac says after a while.

“Careful Scrooge,” Zosia murmurs, “you wouldn’t want people to think you’re softening up.”

“Perish the thought.”

* * *

The party gets to be too much for Raf. Fletch looks so good in his shirt and waistcoat and jeans and Raf wants nothing better than to grab him by his festive reindeer tie and pull him to him for a lingering kiss. He feels like a sham, in this room of happy people, so morose about something so insignificant but he can’t shake his bad mood so he grabs a beer and heads upstairs in search of solace. He ends up in one of the guest rooms, staring out the slightly open window and letting the bracing air clear his mind.

“Raf?” Fletch’s voice behind him surprises him and he almost falls off the window ledge he’s perched on.

“Hi Fletch,” he says as he comes to sit beside him.

“What’s the matter mate?”

“It’s a lovely party Fletch,” Raf says in place of a response, “you should be proud.”

“Sod that. What’s up with you? This isn’t like you at all.”

“It’s nothing,” Raf says, finishing off his beer and setting it down on the ground. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! If there’s something wrong with you I want to know about it.”

“It’s nothing!” Raf was getting exasperated now.

“Tell me!” Fletch replied.

“I said don’t worry about it!”

“And I said tell me!”

“I’m in love with you!” Raf shouted. “Okay? I know it’s ridiculous and it’s not part of our agreement but I am! I love you and I love the kids and I can’t help myself. I don’t want you to move out! I want to, hell, I want to go to sleep beside you every night and wake up beside you every morning. I want to be with you all the time. I want to be the kids’ dad. And I just. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry cause now I’ve gone and cocked it all up by opening my big mouth.”

“Raf,” Fletch turns to him, reaches out as though to touch him but then pulls his hand back. Raf is busy regretting everything he’s just said, the expression on Fletch’s face is inscrutable and Raf knows nothing will be the same again. “I’m absolutely mad about you!” He laughs a little foolishly and Raf can’t quite comprehend the words, “I mean,” he lets out a breath, “I love you too.”

“R-really?” Raf asks, doesn’t wait for a response before launching himself at Fletch, grabbing him by that stupid festive tie and meeting his lips in a deep kiss.

It’s gorgeous and perfect and better than anything Raf ever dreamed of. Fletch’s lips are soft and his stubble is rough and Raf can’t believe in this moment that he’s never kissed a guy before because it’s _so_ good. Or maybe it’s just Fletch. He’s a great kisser, he really is, and it’s lighting every nerve ending in Raf’s body on fire. He opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, stroking his tongue against Fletch’s. Fletch’s hands are on his waist, pulling him closer and Raf goes willingly, straddling Fletch and pressing him up against the glass with fervour.

They’re still snogging furiously when the door opens.

“Not that kind of party!” Serena yells and they fly apart like they’ve just been caught by a parent. “Stop snogging in my house and go back downstairs,” she says disapprovingly and then stalks out.

Raf and Fletch fall against each other giggling helplessly.

“We should probably go downstairs,” Fletch says after a bit. Raf nods. “Oh, and Raf?” Fletch continues.

“Yes?”

“The kids? You already are their dad.”

* * *

Serena finds the party enjoyable, yes, but also tiring. So after a few hours she slips away upstairs for some solitude. She plans to sit in her room for a short while and then freshen up. Give herself a few moments where she doesn’t need to keep a smile plastered to her face. Her plans are thwarted by the fact that when she opens the door to her room it is already occupied. Jac Naylor and Zosia March are snogging in the corner near the loo and if there was one thing Serena didn’t need tonight it was a personal show of PDA from her colleagues.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She asks as they break apart, then sighs and rolls her eyes. “Get yourselves decent and get out of my room,” she says before leaving in search of some other place to hole up. She is wildly unsuccessful. In the next room she attempts entering she ends up seeing far more of Doctors Copeland and Dunn than she ever needed to. She shoos them on their way as well, admonishing them to put their shirts back on, and is on her way before she mentally deals with that little revelation. Cam is gay? She wonders if Bernie knows. Then casts it from her mind because Cam, along with his mother, falls strictly under the heading of ‘Not Her Problem’.

The next room reveals Raf and Fletch and Serena thinks ‘finally’, but says,

“Not that kind of party! Stop snogging in my house and go back downstairs.”

Really why did people decide that this year was the year to get it on in her home when all she was guilty of doing was hosting a nice little get together for her colleagues? Do people have no decency anymore? A party is no place for such things.

Serena decides then that the best course of action is to check all the other rooms for safety’s sake. Jason’s room is thankfully clear and Serena thanks god for small mercies. Jason had chosen to go to Alan’s instead of participating in tonight's revelry (large crowds of people often don’t sit well with him) and she can’t imagine what it would be like to have to go through explaining that some strangers had picked his room for their love nest while he was gone.

The only room left is the guest room and the door to it is not entirely closed. Serena pushes it open gently, cautious of what she might find, and is shocked at the sight. There in the room stands Bernie Wolfe. She’s standing in front of the mirror in the center of one of the walls, her hands are clenched at her sides, and she’s talking to her reflection.

“You can do it Wolfe. Just say it. Serena. I’m sorry and I love you. I know I can never make it up to you, but if you let me I will spend the rest of my life trying.” She shakes her head, “that’s ridiculous. She’d laugh you out of the house if you said that!”

“I don’t think she would,” Serena interjects and Bernie whirls around, shock etched on her features.

“Serena—” Bernie gasps out. Her eyes dart about the room as though she’s planning her escape and Serena scowls.

“I can look up flights to Kiev on my phone if you think this conversation is going to be too much for you,” she says, her tone biting.

“No. No, Serena. I don’t want to run.”

They stand there for a few moments, letting the silence stretch between them. Serena uses the opportunity to truly absorb every feature of Bernie’s face. They haven’t been this close for this long in a while. Bernie looks more tired than she usually does, Serena thinks.

“Well I—” Serena begins to say, she needs to break the silence, but Bernie holds up her hand in a stop gesture. She takes a deep breath and then begins to speak.

“I love you. I know I should have said it sooner, or better, but it’s true. I’m sorry that I ran. No, I,” she squints up at the ceiling, “I needed time and space to come to terms with my feelings, not just for you, but with my… Sexuality as a whole. I’m sorry that I put that on you, that wasn’t fair.” Serena can’t believe what she’s hearing and the shock must be evident on her face because Bernie smiles shyly and ducks her head. “I’ve, uh, been going to therapy.”

“I—” Serena takes a single step forward, her heart in her throat. “It sounds like you’ve changed.”

“I have Serena, I promise. I know I’ve screwed everything up and I don’t deserve your forgiveness in the slightest, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it right, if I can.”

“Oh. Bernie.” She gasps out the words, then closes the gap between them and presses her lips against Bernie’s. When Bernie kisses her back it feels like an assurance that everything is going to be okay. It feels like home.

Maybe Serena isn’t quite as against holiday party tomfoolery as she originally thought. A party may not be the place for such things but it’s her house and she’s going to celebrate the holiday in style.


End file.
